The Keepers of the Void
by Kelly Sedai
Summary: End of Fable III- Something in the Void is stirring. The Hero, defeater of the Crawler and Queen of Albion, must stand once more to defend her country. Choices must be made in order to save. But all things end eventually.  Rating subject to change.
1. A Sore Start

"The Keepers of the Void" –A Fable III fanfiction

By Kelly Sedai

Chapter One

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"A queen is a creature of beauty and aristocracy. Elegant and refined at all times, her every action sings of grace and sophistication. A queen is a figure to be looked up to, to be admired. She is to be in touch with the proletariat, of course, but always above them, out of reach and idolised. A queen," spat Hobson slamming a pasty hand onto the lacquered table. "Should not be found cavorting in a back alley tavern with inbred commoners and later emptying her stomach in the throne room!"

"Please Hobson, quiet down. My head is pounding enough as it is; it doesn't need a lecture as well." The young queen buried her head in her hand, praying that the divine forces above would strike her down already. As fond as she was of life, living to a ripe old age just wasn't worth the reprimands from a stuck-up butler and the hangover that was currently threatening to split her head clean in two.

"With all due respect, your Highness, I will not 'quiet down'! Do you know how many guardsmen were sent in search of you after you left the castle- with no warning I might add! Not even a note left behind!"

"More than was necessary, I'd imagine," she muttered under her breath.

Hobson glared at her and continued as if she'd said nothing. "For all our knowledge, your Majesty could have been lying in an Old Quarter gutter with her throat slit!"

She lifted her head to regard him blearily. There had to be some way to shut him up. She could always set fire to his breeches. Yes, that could work. "I just felt like a drink, Hobson. And I wasn't under the impression that the reigning Monarch needed her subordinate's permission before stepping out."

"She does when there is a risk of danger to her life. You are a noble woman- a queen- who could fetch a pretty price if abducted. The Darkness may be gone, but there are other dangers and threats in abundance out there. Royalty bleed and die like everyone else, your Majesty." He sniffed disdainfully. "Besides, if my Lady had wanted a drink, there are plenty of inns more reputable than that new tavern in the Old Quarter. It's been open only a fortnight and has already garnered such a reputation! Honestly, the very thought of our dear queen drinking _ale_ with stall vendors and _house husbands_!" He shuddered delicately. It was astounding how he could make the simplest of words such as 'ale' and 'house husbands' sound like the most grave of insults towards her entire ancestry.

"I'm in no mood to discuss this further, Hobson. You have proposals that need to be reviewed, do you not?" The balding man's expression soured at the abrupt interruption of his rant and he handed her the creamy sheafs of paper. She quickly glanced through the contents, absorbing as much information as her aching brain would allow. Settle a common extra-marital affair dispute; an insulting letter from Arthur that somehow managed to slip through; another plea for more guards; a proposal to build a stadium and professional training grounds for Albion's fastest chickens- the sport has become surprisingly popular amongst Albion's citizens for reasons the ex-revolutionist couldn't possibly fathom.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. All of this seemed so… insignificant now. The Crawler had been defeated six months ago. Bowerstone had been rebuilt and was back to its rather pungent self, the villagers had slipped back into their routines and were more at ease, and those blasted gnomes were finally gone. Life had gone on. But now her task as queen felt so dreary and mundane. The time of difficult decisions and painful choices was gone. There was no longer the need to fortify Albion against a monstrous enemy, nor was there the urgency to recruit and train troops for an upcoming war. Her role as queen now consisted of signing paper work and debating whether her country was ready for arena dedicated to the deadly sport of chicken racing. She missed the adventure, the thrill of leading a rebellion, of leaving the only home she'd ever known for some vague notion of justice and what was right. She missed wading through the fetid sludge in sewers in search of wedding rings and crashing undead parties which, ironically, were rather lively. She even missed the feeling of sheer terror that can only be experienced when a balvarine's screaming face is inches away from one's own, and the foul smelling blood spray that follows when one's blade finds the way to its throat.

"…Highness? Are you with us, your Majesty?" The Hero was broken out of her reverie by Hobson's small face peering into her own.

"I apologise, my mind was elsewhere," she replied with a grimace. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes my Liege. Reaver has returned and is requesting an audience with you at your earliest convenience. Not that I mean to step above my station, your Highness, but I suggest that your earliest convenience be now. If I'm not mistaken, I heard gunshot downstairs not five minutes ago."

Reaver. Just what her poor, ailing head needed. "Send him up now, Hobson. I'd best deal with him before he gets out of hand." She winced as the unmistakable sound of a pistol punctuated the end of her sentence. "And do it quickly." She downed a glass of water as her butler scurried out of her quarters, hoping that the refreshing drink would leave her better able to deal with Reaver. Where had Reaver been? The man had simply abandoned them when the Crawler invaded, claiming an important annual meeting as his reason. She has been furious at the time- his skill with arms would have been most useful- but now she was rather curious as to what and where this meeting was. But still rather annoyed.

She could only guess as to why he was requesting an audience with her- she rather hoped he didn't intend to push the topic of building a brothel again. It never ceased to amaze her how Reaver could make something as corrupt as a brothel sound like the solution to hunger, poverty, and any other affliction the world may suffer from. He spun words as deftly as the most talented of spinsters spun wool. 'Silver-tongued' didn't quite seem an adequate description- the young monarch was far more convinced that his entire mouth was made of gold.

Hobson returned rather red in the face and gasping for breath, clearly having had to run in order to meet Reaver before he further terrorised the Castle. She remembered his first visit to the castle, when Logan was still in power. Reaver had managed to shoot a member of the Royal Guard in the foot, make the cook- a solid man tougher than any mercenary- burst into tears, and caused a rather large brawl between four of the serving girls, each believing that they had slept with him first.

Hobson cleared his throat loudly. "Sir, the Queen permits your entrance," he announced breathily, still not quite recovered from his dash to the lower floors. "May I present to you: Her Majesty, the Queen of Albion and First Sovereign of Aurora!" A white clad figure strolled through the ornate door, twirling a pistol in a jovial manner.

"Ah, my Dearest Queen," Reaver grinned wolfishly. "How delightful it is to see you again!" This was going to be a long day, she could feel it.

* * *

So how am I doing so far? This is going to be one hell of a ride I tells ya, though I am completely petrified as I've never written a multi-chaptered fic before. Also, I've never attempted to write anyone like Reaver before, so any help offered with writing his character is especially appreciated.

I'd imagine a few of you are wondering why Hobson's still around. Turns out the Crawler's invasion had him bricking it, so he did what seemed natural- he hid in the kitchens and pilfered food (confusing many members of staff) until he was discovered a month after the attack finished.

Also I made up the Auroran title. I just can't see a country wanting to be _that_ integrated into another culture.

Reviews are very much appreciated, and I swear I'll start responding to them. Until next time, friends!


	2. Reaver's Return

"The Keepers of the Void" –A Fable III fanfiction

By Kelly Sedai

Chapter Two

"You may leave, Hobson," the Hero said, waving a dismissing hand in the butler's general direction. Hobson squinted inquisitively at Reaver and retreated, bowing his way out of the study and closing the door firmly behind him. She listened to his footsteps fade into the distance before speaking. He'd developed a terrible habit of eavesdropping as of late, which, whilst common amongst the maids, was not behaviour she expected to see in her personal serving staff. Nosey bugger.

"Reaver. I'm surprised you had the gall to return to the castle after your desertion. Or did it merely slip your mind four months ago that the Crawler was approaching?" She fixed him with as level a stare as she could whilst the gentleman made himself comfortable on the divan. He never acted like he was in the presence of a queen, instead treating her with a familiarity she welcomed, in a way. She should probably still consider imposing a penalty on him for improper conduct though. Bastard was getting too cocky.

"Ah, your temper is as fiery as ever, my dear. And dare I say it a tad more irritable. Your butler mentioned something of the sort to me. A rough night, was it?" He winked at her. Wanker.

"Keep on topic, Reaver."

"How terribly abrupt, _ma chère¹_! Did your mother teach you no manners?" He smirked. This was not her morning. "But I do believe I informed you of my unfortunate circumstances. I know my presence was sorely missed, but alas, I had matters to attend to that simply could not be postponed. If my absence distressed your Majesty _that_ much, perhaps we could adjourn to more private quarters and… reacquaint ourselves." She couldn't even think of what to say to that. She simply stared. She should _definitely_ consider the penalty; he could take a few weeks in prison. "Ah, but your Highness is still not quite recovered from last nights festivities, is she? Perhaps another time, my sweet," he said with a satisfied smirk. Why, why, _why _today of all days? Any other day and she would have thrown a witty comeback straight in his cocky, and even she had to admit, rather handsome face. Her brain felt like sludge. Thick, thought-killing sludge.

"Where were you, Reaver? A 'regular appointment' you said it was? What appointment could possibly be so important that you would defy the Queen's wishes and leave when you were most needed?" She was burning with curiosity.

"Every man has his secrets, dearest. I have no wish to divulge mine at this time." His face was perfectly serious now, an expression she wasn't sure she had ever seen Reaver wear. This served only to further intrigue her. The entire situation was terribly mysterious, and his reluctance to answer increased her desperation to find out more about the clandestine meeting.

"You would refuse to answer your queen?"

"You would push the subject?" His pistol was in his hand again, the Dragonstomper .48 twirling gracefully between his fingers. She couldn't push this line of conversation any further. He was at a clear advantage, his marksmanship legendary. And she didn't doubt that he would shoot if provoked. He was, after all, terribly fond of gunfire.

"Have it your way, Reaver. Is there something you actually wished to discuss or is this a social call?" The monarch could feel the familiar stirrings of anger. She was tired, she was hungry, she felt unwell, and she did not have the patience for this.

"I must commend your wise decision, my Lady." He relaxed again, lounging on the divan in a rather regal slouch, as if he were the King and she the visitor. The cheek of him! "As it happens, I had intended to visit the castle merely to report the delightful news of my return. However, that wretched hag of a seer decided a visit was in order, just as my carriage pulled into Bowerstone." He rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Theresa? As in Theresa the Seer of the Spire? She's in Bowerstone?" The young woman sat up straight, anger completely forgotten. Things were getting interesting again. "Wait, you know of her?"

"We are… acquainted." Reaver and Theresa knew each other? Well that was certainly unexpected. How long had they been acquainted, and how on earth did they first meet? She had a feeling asking would be an exercise in futility. Reaver spoke again. "Apparently my services are required again. And, whilst I simply loathe playing the part of messenger boy, she asked me to inform you that you are to find her underneath Bowerstone Market's clock tower at noon on the morrow, accompanied by myself. She also requested that I stay in your Majesty's vicinity, and that rooms be prepared within the castle for me." 'His services are required _again_'? What services and when had he provided them before? Why was he to meet the seeress with her? Any possible answers she could think of only raised more questions. She was certain of one thing, however: the idea of Reaver residing in the castle was horrifying.

"You are to stay here? In the castle? With your own quarters? I'll lose half my serving staff within day, and that is excluding the problems you cause with the maids!" That statistic may have been slightly exaggerated, but she could say without doubt that there would be a definite decrease in the castle's workforce.

"Such a high opinion of my charms! Well I need not have my own quarters, dearest. Your own rooms are certainly large enough for the both of us, and sharing, as one so often hears, is caring." The Queen snorted with laughter at that line.

"All this is irrelevant- How can I be sure that you're not lying? And why follow Theresa's wishes? You are clearly not the type to take orders."

"What can I say? I am a curious cat. And I wouldn't call it abiding by her orders, more that I am exploring my options. This could be a superb opportunity presenting itself, waiting to be grasped! And I must say that I am terribly wounded," his expression changed to that of mock distress. "I find it quite hurtful that your Majesty would think me capable of such deceit!"

"Forgive me, Sir. I had forgotten that 'honesty' was your given name."

"Quite alright, _chérie²_. I could never hold it against you," he bantered with a grin. Ah, Reaver. If she wasn't so hungover she'd enjoy this conversation.

The Queen poured herself another glass of water. "Very well, I shall arrange for your rooms to be prepared as soon as-"

"No need, my love. I alerted your accommodating butler as he escorted me here. He should be back any minute to show me to them."

She spluttered indignantly, managing to knock the freshly filled glass over. "You ordered my butler to arrange rooms before even _asking _me?"

He arched an eyebrow. Most likely at her show of complete unrefinement. "I had no doubt that our most benevolent and hospitable Queen would grant me shelter. And Hobson, the excellent man that he is, was only too pleased to organise it. Ah, speaking of the man!"

Hobson appeared at the door. "Sir's rooms are ready and, hopefully, up to his fine standards." The portly man bowed slightly in Reaver's direction. "I am also pleased to inform your Majesty that the gunshots heard earlier injured no one, but our head chef has unfortunately decided to take a vacation for an indefinite length of time. It was all terribly impulsive, not like him at all. I wonder why…" the man trailed off, clearly puzzled.

"That's fine. Thank you Hobson. Also, I'll need you to send up a maid, there's been a minor spillage…" She looked sheepishly at the large, damp patch that had formed on the blue carpet.

He bowed again. "Of course, my Queen. Now, if Master Reaver would accompany me to his chambers."

Reaver stood, shooting her a winning smile. "Your warmth and generosity is much appreciated _ma Reine³_." He sauntered to the door, pausing at the entrance. "One more thing, my sweet. 'The dreams will come. Do not waver. Be unflinching. Be strong.' The Blind Seer's words, not mine. Tatty bye!" And with that, he closed the door behind him.

'The dreams will come. Do not waver. Be unflinching. Be strong.' She moved over to the hearth and stared into the embers from last night's fire. What dreams? She couldn't recall having any remarkable dreams lately. And what made these dreams so important? Theresa words had made them sound so menacing, so threatening. And what role did Reaver play in all of this?

Sighing, she moved back to the mahogany desk, resigned to completing the ridiculous amount of paper work that was stacked in front of her. Thankfully her headache had eased up a little. To think, only a few hours ago she had been dreaming of reliving the excitement of adventure, wishing for an escape from the drudgery of royal life. But this… This was different. She was not sure she liked where this was headed at all.

* * *

In case you didn't know the French:

¹my dear

²dearest/dearie

³my Queen

So that's another chapter finished! It seems awfully wordy though, I think it's far too dialogue driven. So constuctive criticism is valued (read: _desperately needed_._)_

For those of you wondering, our dear Hero of Brightwall's alignment is good/corrupt.

Also what do you guys think of the fact that I haven't given the princess a name? Good idea, or do you think she she needs one?

Thank you to everyone who read the previous chapter, I hope you'll read and enjoy this one as well.

Aaaaaaaaaand I forgot a disclaimer at the start of the last chapter, but you guys know I don't own any rights to Fable or anything, right?


	3. The Seer of the Spire

"The Keepers of the Void" –A Fable III fanfiction

By Kelly Sedai

Chapter Three- "The Seer of the Spire"

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There is a certain energy that can only be found in the largest and most overpopulated cities in the world, a certain exuberance and vitality that draws people in. Bowerstone was no exception. The city buzzed with an almost tangible liveliness, almost as if it were a conscious being: it breathed giant plumes of black smoke into a bright, Summer's sky as people rushed past, pushed past, on cobbled streets that branched out into alleys and dead ends; tall houses and buildings stood reaching upwards, crooked teeth against the horizon. At the heart of it all was Bowerstone Market. The marketplace, the lifeblood of the city, held everything that made Bowerstone the wondrous place it was. The yells of the stall vendors mingled with that of idle conversation, the result a deafening roar of incoherencies. Every stall, every building, was a different colour; each as vibrant as the next, and all clamouring for the eye's attention. Masses of people crowded the area, and children wriggled through the crowds, running from their understandably stressed parents. And as the Queen watched her loyal companion Joiner bound across the bridge after a startled gull, she decided that there was no place in Albion she'd rather live. Reaver, on the other hand, was not quite so content with his surroundings.

"The smell here is unbearable! Have your citizens never heard of bathing?" His nose wrinkled in disgust as he watched a local stagger out from the Cock in the Crown and into the Blacksmith's. And then, as gathered by the swearing and shouting that was heard from the building, threw up. "We came here far too early. I stand by what I said earlier: we should make the loathsome woman wait. I am not here to answer to her every whim. And I have no wish to remain in this wretched city a moment longer."

The Sovereign leaned against the clock tower, closing her eyes lazily. "It's a hot day and you know as well as I that they can't afford regular baths. Not everyone has a life as privileged as yours, Reaver. Besides," she cracked one eye open to peer at him quizzically. "I would have thought you'd enjoy the hustle and bustle of the city."

"My dear, why do you think I had such a large mansion built in Millfields?"

She shrugged. "I assumed it was because a mansion in the country seemed so much _statelier_ than one in the city."

"Whilst I agree with that statement, the truth is merely that I prefer a rural setting. The serenity, the beauty… Millfields especially has a certain _je ne sais quoi*_," he murmured. "Quite the idyllic picture. It reminds me so much of a town from my youth..." He paused, noticing the Queen looking at him curiously. "Perhaps I shall regale you with tales of my youth another time, love."

She continued studying him silence. He grew up in the countryside? She hadn't thought of him as being a country bumpkin, and she certainly hadn't expected him to have a shred of sentimentality. Really, she thought as she watched him idly rub the heart shaped tattoo on his face, she knew nothing of him at all. Her contemplation was broken by Joiner's barking. She turned to see the black and white dog trotting alongside a robed woman, his tongue lolling out happily. The figure's face was mostly obscured, but the heavy, downcast hood, and odd, tattered, red and white clothing made her unmistakable. The Seer was here.

She stood in front of the two, clasping her hands together. "Good, you are both here. There is little time to waste, let us begin." The Queen shuddered. It was rather strange speaking to someone she had only ever met on the Road, and Theresa's blank eyes were terribly unnerving. She felt like they could see right through her, penetrate the depths of her mind and read her every thought.

The Seeress cleared her throat lightly. "Hero of Brightwall, you have fought valiantly over evil and triumphed. The Crawler is no more and your people have earned a brief respite. However, peace is threatened once more." She regarded them both, the gold discs on her robes clanking as she shuffled from one foot to the other. "The Crawler was only part of the ordeal you face now. The Darkness came only to reveal weaknesses, test your forces. The Void stirs and worse has yet to come."

"A _test_?" The Queen's voice was quiet, tense. "Bowerstone nearly reduced to rubble? People dead, Walter and Eliot gone? All for a _test_?"

"Yes, Child. The Void is unlike anything you can imagine. Your worst nightmare pales in comparison to its residents."

Reaver clearly had no interest in this exchange. "And we are to do what, exactly?" He drawled, tapping his cane impatiently against the cobbled street.

"Your task is great. You must find those who seek to open Void and revive those thought destroyed. Stop them, no matter what the cost. I have seen all; the help I can give has a limit."

"And if we refuse this quest of yours?" Reaver asked softly, his velvety voice laced with a threat.

"A dead world would benefit you in no way, Reaver. And I advise that you remove your hand from the weapon." She gestured to where Reaver's grip had tightened on the pistol's handle. "Hero of Skill you may be, but your attacks will have no effect. Remember yourself." Reaver's hand eased on the pistol, but his eyes glinted with fury. The Queen had not even noticed him reaching for the Dragonstomper.

"But I have a country to rule. I cannot just leave," the regal Hero pointed out.

"I have spoken to your brother on this matter. The public is to be told you are gravely ill. Jasper, Page and Logan will manage any emergencies between them whilst you are away." The Ruler nodded. She could trust those three with her Kingdom for a short while. "Jasper will stay in Bowerstone Castle and I will temporarily make the Sanctuary my abode. The Guild Seal is in my possession, and I will call when necessary." She tilted her head to the side, studying Albion's reigning monarch. "No one can know you are Queen on this journey; disguise yourself and keep a low profile. Reaver should be relatively unknown where you venture. Your first destination is Brightwall Academy; garner what information you can on your foe."

Theresa reached into her belt pouch and drew out three cards. "These are Fate Cards, and may provide information about the road that lies ahead. Remember them well," she said, holding one up for the Queen and the gentleman to see. It bore an elaborate illustration of a woman screaming, her entire face contorted in pain and dread. Her expression seemed to writhe and her eyes glint with madness, as if alive. The card was bordered with golden, entwined vines, and matching, curly letters at the bottom served as a caption. "The Dream," Theresa named it. "Dreams leak through to our world; the barrier grows weak and worlds begin to bleed. Pay attention to that which you dream; knowledge can be gained, but danger is rife." The next featured a sign post, the two arrows pointing opposite directions. One way faced towards light, the other to darkness. "The Choice. As always, nothing comes without cost. The world has a high price and sacrifices must be made by both; fate teeters upon the edge of a blade." Another card was held up, this one of a hand mirror lying in a pool of blood. A single rose lay on top of the mirror, its petals the same vibrant red as the blood. "The Thief," Theresa announced. "Once called and once more to serve, the Thief knows much of this world. Time has passed him by and his history lays forgotten; he cannot run forever." Reaver's expression darkened at the sight of this card. The Queen was glad he understood the meaning of the last card; she was damned if she did.

Theresa took a step back, regarding the Heroes with blank eyes. "Now go, Heroes; time grows more precious every passing second." And then she simply disappeared, no trace remaining to show she had ever stood there.

The two Heroes exchanged looks. "So, we are to be travelling companions," Reaver beamed. They were going to be travelling companions. They were going to be _travelling together_. The statement began sink in, its meaning finally dawning on the Queen. They would be in each other's company all day, every day with no respite, sharing meals, gathering information, setting up camp. He would no doubt be bringing women and men back to their inns and camps, drinking until the early hours of the morning, and, in short, making a nuisance of himself. She could picture the adventure all too clearly. Reaver, however, didn't seem to have noticed the expression of growing realisation and horror on her face and had continued talking. "Most splendid! I can almost picture it- the tavern brawls, the balvarine hunts, the clear skies dotted with stars, the inside of the tent we share as we spend each night making l-"

The Queen hurriedly held up her hands. "Reaver, we need to talk."

"Whatever about, precious?"

She sighed, preparing herself for the vague and evasive answers. "Theresa called you the Hero of Skill."

The sun glared down on them, and Reaver adjusted his hat slightly. "She did. I was once a Hero, though not quite as renowned as your mother."

"Do you have any intention of elaborating?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"None whatsoever," he replied with a grin. The ex-revolutionist was lost. So he had been a Hero? That could not be possible, could it? There had not been any Heroes since her mother's time, and Reaver was not nearly old enough. She didn't understand, none of this made sense. Then again, the Queen mused grimly, Reaver wasn't a man known for his simple ways and transparency.

"I take it the Thief Card refers to you? You appeared to recognise it." She paused, thinking, before continuing. "Was that because it was from your time as a Hero?"

"Yes, I hadn't expected to see it again," he answered smoothly. A little too smoothly, in fact. There was something he wasn't telling her, she was sure. How she was going to pry that information out of him, however, was beyond her. Secretive bastard. Sometimes, she swore his sole purpose in life was to drive her insane with curiosity.

She looked at him, cocking her head slightly to the side. "Why were you represented by The Thief?" She asked inquisitively.

"Ah, that's enough about me," He rubbed his gloved hands together gleefully, ignoring her. "Whilst I know that I am of great interest to you, _ma belle Reine**_, I do believe we have a very important mission!" His eyes glinted as he looked her up and down, appraising her. "We have a Queen to disguise!"

* * *

Man, it's lucky I studied French; otherwise all this translation business would be an absolute pain.

*You probably know this one. It literally translates as "I don't know what," and basically means that something has an indescribable quality.

**My beautiful Queen

I'm not really happy with this chapter; I might edit it and change the pacing when I have time.

I know Joiner's an odd name for the dog, but I couldn't help it. I'm not sure how many of you get the reference, but in one of Beatrice Potter's books a dog called John Joiner rescues Tom Kitten from being made into pudding by the rats that live in his attic. Tom Kitten was my favourite character ever when I was like three; after Squirrel Nutkin, of course. Ah, memories.

Sorry for this update being kinda late, I've been busy playing Amnesia: the Dark Descent and Dragon Age. And also, armed only with a list of over a thousand characters that've appeared throughout the books and a rather uninformative fan encyclopaedia, I've been trying to figure Demandred's identity in the Wheel of Time series. Me, insane? Pfft, as if.

Thanks to everyone who read the last two chapters. Keep reading guys! :)


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